


Shapes

by Wordlet



Category: Phantomarine
Genre: Character Analysis, Death, Gen, Gods, Isolation, Minor Character Death, Minor Character(s), Ocean, Skeletons, but Cheth is just ripe for character analysis, my favorite character is Pavel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23928058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordlet/pseuds/Wordlet
Summary: At the start he was bodiless, and then he had one, and then he had more, and more, and more.Cheth fic. A little thing exploring identity when one is shapeless and unending as the water he inhabits.
Relationships: Cheth and Cheth, Cheth and mortals
Comments: 5
Kudos: 2





	Shapes

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all, I got into another webcomic (which isn’t too uncommon) but I was especially desperate for some more content when I caught up with this one so I threw this together. The lore is still being fleshed out in the comic so I extrapolated a bit- but what else is fanfiction for! If you’re unfamiliar I highly recommend checking out Phantomarine [here](http://www.phantomarine.com/about/)! It’s got all the oceanic visuals, interesting characters, and cozy (or chilling, depending on the subject matter) art styles I adore. If you like those kinds of things go check it out!

Cheth remembers his first shape. Not the one he was born into, no. That is nearly lost to him. The slow, careful sculpting of a thousand waves carves out the hole in his memory and the blinding grin of light houses guard where it lies resting. But the first shape he found for himself, the first shape he won and made his own- that he remembers. He still has it, of course. With the ocean to fill there’s no need to dispose of old souls. He can keep them all! All of the others outshine it in almost every respect, so it is rarely worn anymore. But nostalgia cements it in his memory.

Before it he was shapeless. His sister had cast him aside and set the bars of his prison into the sand of every island shore. Stripped him of his body and forced him into the only vessel that could hold a god- the ocean itself. Like water he was everywhere, lapping at the land like a dog at its master’s feet. He contained so much and yet had so little. He scooped the souls of those lost at sea into the next realm and roared in the wake of the waves that crashed again and again into themselves, breaking under their own weight.

He passed through the waters like a great invisible shadow, sweeping through it as ephemeral as spirit. Above the light filtered into the water, splintering into illumination for the shallows, but at some point it faded into darkness, unable to reach the depths. Each day was like every other, and so that day, where things began to change, was another drop of rain added to the ocean. 

“Please…” The voice carried through the waters. “Please… no… please…” Cheth turned from one corner of the sea and focused in another. The lost soul caught in the throes of the current drifted on the edge of the lit part of the sea, threatening to sink further down, the darkness yawning like an endless night.

“Please…” The soul whimpered and Cheth reached out, ready to usher the poor thing on to the next plane. “Please… Lord Cheth…” 

Cheth paused. And that was all it took.

At the time Cheth had no shape. Surely his presence was stifling, but he was the ocean. Every mortal that stepped foot in the sea felt him as much as a mortal could. Who could tell how this soul knew he was there, but it could. And in response it squirmed, wriggled like a worm on the end of a hook, already dead but desperate for life besides.

“Lord Cheth! Please, I’ll do anything, I’m not ready to go…” The soul grabbed back where Cheth had reached out to hold it. The sheer desperation in the grip was startling and unwelcome. “Anything, anything! I’ll give you anything, just for a chance- I’ll prove that I’m worth leaving alive-”

“And how would you do that?” He asked and was startled by the sound of his own voice. He had no mouth, no vocal chords, it had been ages since he even thought of speaking. But there it was, echoing through the ocean with the resonance of a whale’s song, enveloping as the shifting of tectonic plates.

“I have a family.” The soul whispered. “Parents I need to take care of, a husband I need to support. I’m a service to my community and I’m- I’m not ready to die.”

“You are no different than every other soul.” Cheth said. “Every soul says they’re important, they’re special. But you all come to me and I send you all along. Only gods are worthy of surpassing death.”

“Let me prove myself!” The spirit wailed. “Let me prove I’m worthy of the right!”

“How?”

“If I’m better than  _ you-” _ They stopped, abruptly, as did the currents and the slosh of waves and the sea winds. Cheth’s temper grumbled like a mortal stomach eager to consume and dissolve whatever came within reach.

“I’m sorry-” They said, “I didn’t mean, Lord Cheth, please-”

“No.” He interrupted and curled more of himself into the small square of sea. “Go on. What were you going to say?”

The spirit hesitated. They both knew what the next words were going to be, and it was a toss up as to which was more foolish. To go through and say them or to deny Cheth’s order and lie to a god.

“If… If I’m better than you- not altogether! But… a little bit.” The spirit stumbled through the words, fumbling with the flawed logic and trying to lessen the damage that had already been done. Cheth watched them, judging. Truly they were a soul like every other, long hair tied back in a bun at the back of their head, rough palms from a life of work and well mended clothes that hung too loose on a frame that was turning skeletal in the wrong light. “If I’m a little better at just one thing, then aren’t I worthy? If I can surpass a god do I-”

“Do you deserve to be one?” Cheth asked and the spirit winced, curling away from his ephemeral anger. “No. You do not. You are mortal and lesser than me and that will not change.” He stopped, considering. “And yet. I have enjoyed this, you’ve piqued my curiosity.” If he had eyes they would burn holes through the spirit’s gauzy shell. “Just what do you think you could do better than I?”

On the surface and at every shore the sea beat on, but in this corner all was still. The soul could probably feel the weight of the ocean pressing in from every side, and the heat of a god’s anger and the intensity of his interest. Cheth was glad he was not mortal, he’d never want to be subjected to such a thing.

“I have some talent in knot tying.” The soul whispered. “I’m not sure what use a god would have of that. Surely it is small enough that you don’t much care to be good at it anyhow.”

Cheth wished he could grin.

“Very well.” He announced and the spirit startled. “Let’s have a challenge then. If you prove yourself more knowledgeable of knot tying than I then I will let your soul return to its body.” The spirit gaped at him, clearly unable to believe what they were hearing. “And if I win then I get to keep your soul. It becomes mine to use however I wish.”

“What do you want with a mortal soul?” The creature asked, surprised and so  _ so  _ stupid. “We pass through your hands everyday, don’t you have enough?”

“Oh no.” Cheth crooned. “It’s true. I have a hand in death- but I don’t own any souls. I pass them on to where they belong.” He wishes desperately for his body, so he can smile as wide as his delight bids him to. “But you… I will own you.”

The soul shuddered and flinched away but there was nowhere to go. They were trapped in a web of their own desires.

“How do I know you won’t break the bargain?” They challenged. “You’re a dishonest creature of shadow. Powerful yes but even you would never call yourself trustworthy.”

“I wouldn’t.” He agreed. “But you know who you would trust? My sister!”

“Lady Cheline?” They gasped.

“Yes that is her name.” He grumbled. “So I will swear my honest intentions on her name and if I should break them she’ll come down to right my wrongs- as she always has.”

He didn’t know if it was true. He hadn’t spoken to his sister in centuries, nor seen any sign of her existence besides the steadfast belief of the mortals. But incurring her name was enough for the spirit and they nodded their agreement before explaining their challenge.

Like a fool, they selected a sailing knot that Cheth had watched a thousand sailors cinch tight around themselves in the heat of raging storms. He watched frantic fingers tie it in a heartbeat from his place in the arc of monstrous waves. 

And just like that- he had a puppet.

He slipped into it like the second skin it was (first skin if one considered that bonefish didn’t have skin anyhow) and marveled at the intricacy of it. It couldn’t hold all of him, but he felt… physical. The concentration of his being in that puppet made him feel real again in a way that he hadn’t had in centuries. He smiled and the lips followed his orders. He spread his arms and looked down at himself, fiddled with the strands of hair that had come loose from the bun, and pulled back his sleeves to see his familiar marks emblazoned across skin as pale as bone.

He laughed, and it was still his voice, but the gentle thrum of the sound in a throat was pleasant in a way he never expected.

Immediately, he knew he wanted more of them.

When the next soul came into his realm, meek and yielding, he offered them the same deal. They looked upon his new mortal shell in horror- after all, the casting of his existence to the tides had been a show of strength for Cheline and a comfort to the mortals. It is more difficult to fear that which holds no physical threat. But even with the fear, they were not offput entirely. They looked back toward the surface with a desire deeper than the trenches Cheth haunted. (And in places like that it is too dark to see the danger.) They took the deal, and Cheth showed them that he knew a thing or two about sea shanties. Now he had two shapes and he twirled about them in the manner of a young girl trying on her mother’s wedding dress.

Some were not so foolish as to challenge him for a chance. Some of them offered challenges that he could not beat. He had no knowledge of bicycles. No concept of spelunking had ever occured to him. And a god had no need nor means for sharpshooting skills when all he dealt with was the dead. But the ocean was a large closet and he wanted every outfit he saw. So he rifled through the memories of those who he owned and learned about the places he could not go until generations of knowledge were also his to possess. When souls didn’t take his offer he invited them to stay for a time and discuss their life. He learned things. (And the company is nice, even when most visitors are terrified of him.)

Sea battles raged and he gained a uniform for every rank from every side. He claimed the tired, wasting shell of castaways that had no reason to ask for a second bid at life. Some people asked if he would give them a shell that better matched their soul if they won. Most, like all others, lost, but he granted the wish when he could. Not everyone was so lucky to be able to change their form with the fluidity and frivolity of the sea.

Before long souls came to him with his own challenge on their lips. In the moonlight their skulls shone desperate determinaton from empty eye sockets and he either claimed a new suit or sent a miracle back to the shore where he could not go.

That happens less over time. Time turns on and soon Cheth has a match for every challenger. The sea is crowded with empty shells that he dances into and out of. When he’d slipped into that soul for the first time he hadn’t realized how cramped it was. The definition was enough. It was fill the ocean or squeeze into an abandoned shell he would soon grow out of. Now he burst from the seams of hundreds at a time, perception and agency fractured into all of them at once. 

The world is a stage and Cheth is the master of the quick change.

Business is slow. Mortals know their chances are low and prefer a peaceful rest to an eternity of mindless servitude and hunger. Cheth doesn’t mind. Times have changed from when he filled the sea and haunted ships for the ghost of company. No deal? Fine. Let me summon the shapes of people who left before you, for a final comfort. Care to tour the ocean before drifting on to what’s next? Stay and make peace with the pain of passing on- I’ve grown familiar with grief.

He’s not so nice to everyone. Some deserve his puppet show and skeleton smile and the threats of a chained god. But others are just dead and grieving their own loss.

Cheth may be the god of death, but he’s not cruel. And he grows tired of tears.

He grows tired of all of it, but never as he was before. Empty skins give him something to focus on, give him something to covet and desire. They make him more than a nightmare to the mortals; he’s one part hope and three parts demon. No longer does he drift- aimless and alone, in a cavernous prison. Or at least it doesn’t seem so bad.

Cheth may be as alone as he ever was, but now, at least, he has the company of skeletons in the closet.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed (and maybe even gained a new fandom?? I’d love to introduce people to something so cool!) and would appreciate any thoughts you may have on my work! I love to chat!


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